


Anchors of Lonely Hearts

by minettes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minettes/pseuds/minettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In the beginning, every tall golden haired man he saw was Arthur. Every pair of blue eyes was Arthur. Every red tunic was Arthur. Everything was Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, and Merlin couldn't cope with it.</i><br/> </p><p>In which Merlin has a posh cat, Arthur hasn't yet returned, and Merlin's hope is wearing thin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchors of Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! And probably only, too, lbr I'm terrible at finishing anything I start. I just watched the finale of Merlin and wrote this lil self-indulgent fic to comfort myself, hopefully it comforts you too!! 
> 
> enjoy :)

He's tired.

There's no other way to explain the way Merlin is feeling at the moment, and for the countless number of moments before it. He tries to stay hopeful because deep down, somewhere, someplace in his old heart, he knows that he will find Arthur again. But sometimes it's hard to hold on to plain hope.

Last August, he bought a new flat - just a tiny place with two rooms, an extra one for his photo-developing. When the loneliness really got to him, he tried rooming with an acquaintance but it didn't work out as he expected it to. It ended with tomato sauce and a grease fire set with vengeance, and after that incident, he settled with buying a cat.

It's because of Microwave's unnecessary demands for a certain brand of posh cat food that Merlin finds himself at a strange shop with terrible loud speakers halfway across town in the midst of winter. He's silently cursing the shop owner's taste in music when he feels a strange pull in his chest.

He gasps, almost dropping the tin he's holding and clutching at his chest. The fabric of his polo absorbs the cold sweat from his hands as he closed his eyes.

"You a'right there?"

Merlin looks up. The strange feeling subsided. He can't discern how long he was frozen in that state, but from the concerned look he's getting from the young blue-eyed girl beside him, he guesses it was long enough to cause alarm.

"I'm great, no worries," he smiles back with false cheerfulness and an ease gained over centuries of practice.

Reassured, she smiles and continued down the aisle.

Sometimes, Merlin is saddened by the way mortals can easily accept what they want to hear. No, he isn't okay. He hasn't been for most of his life. He is empty, devoid of any true emotion - after all, how can he feel when half himself is missing?

But he doesn't admit it, and even if he did, who would listen to a strange old man, a young, naive-seeming child, a dirty, homeless teen? Not many, and he doesn't have the patience to go looking. No one could compare to his old friends of the round table, or the noble queen of Camelot, or the wise court physician. So Merlin doesn't speak to anyone, and he doesn't go looking to engage in relationships, because he knows that nothing would compare to what he had before.

Or perhaps he was afraid of finding something better?

He quickly expels that thought from his mind each time it arises. But he can't help but wonder what he might hear from the young man with the guitar on the street corner, or the carriage driver who always wore extravagant top hats, or even the hostile young newspaper carrier, Jaques.

But he never talked to any of them.

 

Merlin leaves the pet shop without the food - he can almost feel Microwave's claws angrily scratching up every surface she can find, including his skin - but he couldn't stand the innocent attempts at conversation from the girl he encountered earlier. He replied as brusquely as he could, and still, it was almost the most he'd spoken to another human in months.

He thinks perhaps he could have make a new friend, to remind himself that he wasn't completely devoid of the art of communication, but the girl's blue eyes and golden hair were much too disconcerting to be around.

He decides against taking the bus home, and finds himself at the lake again. He tries not to visit everyday as a young man (it was a different story as an old man, for he could sit for hours as a wallflower on a bench, and no one would give him a second glance) but he makes the trip as often as he can.

The lake is brimming with magic - he can feel it coursing in his veins more strongly as he approaches. Even when the rest of the world forgot the essence of magic, Avalon remembered, Avalon stayed untouched.

Merlin stands on the path, content, staring out at the lake with glassy eyes, until he feels a chill in the air, the strange tugging in his chest again.

This time, however, it's stronger than before.

Is it Microwave? Did someone break into his flat? He sighs through his laboured breaths and turns to locate the nearest bus stop, his trip to the lake cut short.

He doesn't have to search long before he finds it, and a gathering crowd waiting for the bus, far too many to fit on one bus.

Merlin sighes. _Walking, it is,_ he mutters as he steers clear of the small gaggle.

He's almost out of earshot when he hears a noise. A sword unsheathing.

Memories rush through his mind, ones he so desperately tried to push back throughout the centuries - scenes from every battle, until the very last.

No. It can't be.

It's a street performer who happens to swallow knives...?

Yeah, of course, that must be it. 

He closes his eyes and let out a deep sigh 

In the beginning, every tall golden haired man he saw was Arthur. Every pair of blue eyes was Arthur. Every red tunic was Arthur. Everything was Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, and Merlin couldn't cope with it. He couldn't handle just _waiting_ , waiting for god knows when - he needed to see him, to hold him, to hold him properly and say the things he left unsaid, just one last time, because holding onto hope wasn't good enough. Hope's eyes didn't light up when laughing, hope didn't badger him with terrible insults. Hope wasn't Arthur.

Arthur is gone. Although Merlin knows someday he'll return, he was tired of living every day in anticipation - so he forced part of him to just give up, no matter how much it hurt.

But part of him, the part that knew he is still living for a reason, held onto that hope and anchored it into the deepest part of his heart. That part of him dreams of those blue eyes and that old banter. That part of him knows hope is that golden hair, that crooked smile, those bright eyes. That part of him knows that hope is the light that guided him through the centuries without fail - and that hope consists entirely of Arthur.

Perhaps it was that part of Merlin that persuades him to get a little closer to the crowd, because when will he get another chance to see a knife-swallower in this little town? Perhaps it's that part of him that just knows when he sees the damp blond hair and flash of armor. Perhaps it's the part of him that pushes himself through to the front of the crowd, just as it lifts the anchor in his heart.

Arthur.

He's there - soaking wet, frustrated, scared, and surrounded by people and loud voices - but he's _there._

Merlin can't bring himself to speak - he can't trust the words that might come spilling out. His vision focuses only on the man in front of him. 

Their eyes meet, slowly, and suddenly it's just the two of them, the way it's supposed to be - the way it should be.

"Merlin?" Arthur breathes in relief.

"Nice of you to finally join us, sire." Merlin manages to choke out through a film tears and a genuine smile bright enough to wipe away the pain and loneliness he's endured throughout the years.

Arthur sheathes his sword and pushed through a few more spectators. He makes his way toward Merlin, arms outstretched, and embraces him. Something clicks in Merlin's chest, and he's sure Arthur can feel it too.

"It's good to see you Merlin," he says quietly, pulling away and looking into his eyes with seriousness. "So you were in Avalon too, then?"

Merlin smiles ruefully, shaking his head."I was out here, Arthur, waiting." He replies.

"Waiting?" Arthur raises his eyebrow.

"Waiting." 

Something must show in his eyes, because a strange look crosses Arthur's face. He opens his mouth to say something, something he's been holding in for years but, to Merlin's annoyance, a woman chooses that moment to take a close-up of Arthur's face with a flashing camera.

"Has the circus come to town early, then?" She asks as her face lights up at the thought.

"This is the best cosplay I've ever seen!" An enthusiastic boy exclaims, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick shot. 

Arthur blinks and reaches for the device hesitantly.

"What in God's name is that, Merlin?" he asks, his voice laced with fear.

And Merlin laughs - his first genuine laugh in centuries.

"Oi, sod off you lot!" he calls out to the now confused crowd, taking Arthur by the arm and leading them away from the bus stop.

"You've missed so much, haven't you?" he remarks. "Don't worry _sire_ , I'll show you what that is. Just a warning though, It's quite dangerous. You were right to be afraid of it, Arthur." With a mischievous look Merlin reaches into his coat pocket and pulles out his own phone, brandishing it like a weapon.

"Get that away from me, Merlin," Arthur warns as he begins to back away, water still streaming from his armour and pooling on the concrete.

Oh, this is going to be fun, Merlin thought. Then he lunged.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: allmightygirls 
> 
> :)


End file.
